


Heating Up The War

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 14:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When Schultz went off the rails during his brief tenure as camp Kommandant, snarling and barking at Newkirk and LeBeau, he got a very measured response from the Englander - "Sure we understand.  Yer 'eating up the war . . . Kommandant."   Would Schultz see himself differently after that experience?  What about Newkirk?  He wouldn't have exactly TRUSTED Schultz, but had come to let himself discount the older man, perhaps take him a little too lightly, with a little too much contempt, even a little wry fondness you'd have for a favorite dupe.   How do they get back on their prior footing, or do they?





	Heating Up The War

**Author's Note:**

> Episode Related - 'Kommandant Schultz'

Sergeant Hans Schultz wasn't sure how he had pulled the courage out of himself, even, to pick up that stack of mail and deliver it to Barracks Two. The other barracks, yes, that would have been easy. But Barracks Two, he'd betrayed a level of trust there, and he knew it wouldn't be easy to make amends. Not with the senior prisoner of war - that wasn't the issue. Hogan, yes, Hogan was the cool pragmatist. Anyway, it wasn't Hogan he'd challenged, gone so over the line with. It was two men whose eyes stared at him in the darkness of his mind, whose eyes asked him why.

LeBeau, Newkirk. Two of his 'boys', two he'd come to care for, risk so much for. How he'd let himself go so far, he didn't understand; maybe would never understand. That he'd come to care about them, deeply, even trust them on some level, certainly more than he trusted Klink, or Burkhaulter, or (mein Gott!) Hochstetter, that alone was enough to stagger him; he was pretty sure that was against the rules somewhere. But now, after what had happened, how was he to get back to where they'd been? Not an easy relationship, no. Well, how was that even possible when they were prisoners and he was their guard? But, still, somehow, they were still 'his boys''; he cared deeply for their welfare, tried to protect them as best he could. Them, Carter, Olsen, Baker as well.

How could he have let this happen? Let this unexpected, totally unwanted promotion destroy the fragile connection, the totally unexpected connection between them? He'd already crossed so many lines to shield them, done so many things that could have cost him his life. Now, suddenly, he'd let a surprise promotion, albeit a possibly temporary one, cause him to become someone totally different. Remembering that scene in the barracks, he no longer recognised himself, Hans Schultz.

Had he truly turned into one of those bullies he despised so much, the Hochstetter's of the world? How could he return to his beloved wife, his children, if that was the case? How could he carry on? He firmed his chin, well, as much as it was possible to firm those quivering jowls, and decided: he would think on this episode every morning for the rest of his life, resolve never to let such a thing overtake him again; he would remain the Hans Schultz he really was!

Now, he had to make amends to his 'boys', all of them, but especially Newkirk. He sighed, knowing that wouldn't be an easy thing. The Englander was a very stubborn boy. He'd made a few overtures; each had been coldly rejected or even more coldly ignored. "Yes, such a stubborn boy!"

Sergeant Schultz had brought the mail, had hesitantly tried to talk to Newkirk and LeBeau. LeBeau had been quieter than usual, certainly hadn't extended a welcoming cup of coffee, but at least he'd responded to Schultz's approach. Newkirk was a different story; that worthy had turned a very cold shoulder to the guard, refusing to make eye contact. When Schultz had asked Newkirk a direct question, an innocent one about a letter he'd received, just a simple "you have heard from your sister again, yes?" the Brit had delivered a very crisp, "are you ordering me to answer that, SERGEANT?" and disappeared with his letters up into his bunk, pointedly with his back to the room. After a rather dejected looking Schultz had left the barracks, Carter had followed behind rapidly to hand the big man his rifle that he'd left standing in the corner. Upon his return, Carter had taken it upon himself to chide the Englishman, who'd moved to the long bench at the table as soon as Schultz had left.

"But, Newkirk! You really hurt his feelings! You gotta stop being so mean to him. Come on! It's Schultz! Are you still mad at him? Cause, you know, it's really mostly our fault. We had our reasons, sure, but we're the ones who convinced him he could be, SHOULD BE a big, tough Kommandant, to impress Burkhaulter and Klink when that crazy order came down from Berlin. Well, the Colonel did, anyway. He just did too good a job of convincing, that's how I see it." 

Newkirk looked at Carter in indignant disbelief. "OUR fault??! That 'e started acting like . . ."

Carter defiantly firmed his rather narrow jaw and barreled forward, "like Colonel Hogan told him to act? Yeah, it was pretty ugly, I know. But maybe he didn't know any other way TO act! You know, I know Klink is pretty easy going, well, actually, is pretty much of a wimp most times, but there aren't too many prison camp Kommandants who're like that. If he was gonna impress Burkhaulter, like the Colonel convinced him he should, he couldn't be another Klink. So, maybe he had to choose someone else to be like, someone he'd seen act like that. It's not like Schultz is a new recruit; he's not a young guy, you know! - he served in the last war too. Bet he's seen his share of really tough officers! At least he wasn't trying to copy Major Hockstetter!"

Carter shuddered at the thought. "Who knows what would have happened if he picked HIM to be like??! Though I don't know that Schultz could ever be that mean, even pretend to be. I don't know how long he could have kept it up, anyway, the whole tough guy routine. He folded really fast, you know; I think he would have even without the 'escape'. And it wasn't like he ASKED for the job! The last thing Schultz wants is more responsibility; you know that. I mean, he's Mr. I Know Nothing, I See Nothing!!, right? Heck, everything he's seen around here, if he WANTED a promotion, all he'd have had to do was turn us in back in the beginning."

Newkirk could see the logic of all that; just, blast it, he wasn't in the mood to be logical! It was often that way with him, he had to admit, at least to himself; Maudie had told him that on many an occasion. He remembered her telling him, while she was patching him up from a little trouble he'd gotten into, "logic and common sense? You may 'ave your share and more of some things, my boy, but those two? From the looks of it, you must 'ave been 'iding be'ind the door when THOSE were given out!"

Still, Schultz had shocked him. Good ole Schultz, their frequent dupe, their unwitting accomplice, their stooge. He'd felt that abrupt transformation, that confrontation in the barracks like a slap in the face, something he totally hadn't expected, wasn't prepared for. How was he going to explain to Carter, though, that it was like a nice friendly fat old tabby cat had gone from sleeping on the windowsill to trying to scratch his eyes out, maybe going for his throat, one moment to the next. 

"You don't see Louie sidling up to ole Schultzie, offering 'im any samples of 'is cooking, now do you, Carter? Seems I'm not the only one pissed about the w'ole thing."

"Yeah, well, LeBeau has his own issues." Carter caught that quick reproving glare from those blue-green eyes, and hastened to explain.

"I'm not criticizing, really. Just, LeBeau never HAS liked cooking for the Germans, ANY Germans, though the Colonel can always talk him into it. And, he kinda blames all the Germans for what happened with France. He tries not to show it, he knows deep down it isn't really true, but sometimes it slips out even when he doesn't want it too. And he REALLY didn't like Schultz threatening you with the cooler, or his bad-guy routine with you and him in the barracks."

Carter sat down at the table with a thump, heavy frown on his face.

"You know what REALLY bothered me? That all it took was giving him a promotion, a pep talk from the Colonel, and that monocle and that swagger stick. Then, POW! There was a totally different person!" The frown, if anything, got deeper, and his concern led him to a more familiar form of address, away from the more formal one he'd used in his original scolding. His voice was lower now, hardly more than a whisper.

"And more than that, Peter, it scared me."

Newkirk snorted, "imagine it did, Andrew; gave me the cold willies myself. Could just about picture that stick of 'is giving me another scar across the face to match the one I already 'ave," rubbing his thumb over the almost invisible line along his cheekbone, a memento from an event he'd just as soon not recall. "Swear, could almost feel it!" shaking his head, remembering that chill in his gut at the look on the new Kommandant's beet-red face.

"No, that's not what I mean. Well, yeah, that part DID scare me when I heard you tell us all, but that wasn't the biggest part." 

Newkirk quirked his head to one side, blinking rapidly in thought, "then w'at was the biggest part, Andrew?" He knew Andrew Carter's mind worked in strange and mysterious ways sometimes, and it seemed this might just be one of those times. Sometimes he could figure it all out on his own, but doing so usually left him with a blistering headache. He didn't have the patience for that right now, figured it was better just to ask. Gave him at least a BETTER chance of avoiding that headache, though sometimes Andrew's explanations brought on a headache of a different sort. Oh, well.

Carter swallowed, looked down at the table, then turned his very serious, very worried eyes up to meet Newkirk's inquiring gaze. "Lately, all those impersonations I've been doing. Some were alright people, pretty harmless, but some of them were really bad people, Peter. What if the same thing happens with me? What if I get so wrapped up in who I'm pretending to be, I do something really bad, really hurt someone? I don't think I could stand that! I mean, I know people get hurt in war. I know people get hurt, maybe die everytime I make a bomb, or we blow up a train, or some of the other stuff, even just giving coordinates to London about where to drop their bombs. But that's different somehow. To hurt someone just because I forgot who I was, I don't think I could live with myself." 

Newkirk could see Carter meant all of that. Newkirk was an old hand at pretending to be someone else in order to get a job done; and yes, people had gotten hurt sometimes. Some of those people he discounted as deserving what happened, some but not all. Mostly, he tried not to remember things like that, but he wasn't always successful. But, he told himself firmly, that was HIM, Peter Newkirk, hard, callous, uncaring, street-wise graduate of London's East End, not Andrew Carter, who had more innocence and kindness and outright goodness in him than most people Newkirk had ever known. (Maudie, along with a few other people, would have snorted in derision at Peter's self-deluded description of himself! Andrew probably would have snickered at Peter's description of BOTH of them.)

"Can't see that 'appening, Andrew," he tried to convince the very bothered young man. "Think you'd find you 'ave a little switch inside, call it an Andrew-switch, one that'd stop you from going that far. You're just not the type, mate."

"Maybe. But if I do, if I have that kind of a switch, I mean, I think maybe Schultz does too. And I think he scared himself too, with what happened. It sure seems like it to me. You know, he calls us 'his boys', least that's what Langenscheidt says. Says we're 'good boys, even when they get up to monkey business.' You know, he's never been mean with us, Peter, not like some of the guards. He's looked the other way probably a thousand times, lied to Klink, even Hochstetter to keep us from getting in trouble, done stuff he'd probably get shot for if anyone ever found out, sent to the Russian Front at least! Yeah, so we pay him with a candy bar, or apple strudle, let him win a hand at poker sometimes. But we can DO it with Schultz. Remember those three guards who transferred in, tried to corner me, DID corner you? You think a candy bar or anything like that would've changed them, what they wanted to do here? What about some of the others we've seen? You think a pan of apple strudel would keep them from turning us in, even shooting us?? It was Langenscheidt and Schultz who stood between you and them, remember?"

Newkirk was starting to get annoyed. Just like Andrew, it was, to go and ruin a perfectly good mad he had going on! Man had a right to a good mad now and again, he did! He opened his mouth to blast his barracks-mate, looked into those anxious brown eyes, those puppy-dog eyes that had such an exasperating, infuriating, bewildering effect on him, and felt himself slump in defeat.

"Bloody 'ell, Andrew! I was looking forward to 'olding on to the grudge for a few days more, you know! Now you've just gone and spoiled the whole bloody thing!" 

A slow grin came to Andrew's face, "does that mean you won't be mad at Schultz anymore? Can I go tell him that? Cause I really think he's awful upset and worried and . . . ".

"ALRIGHT, Andrew! Yes, you can go tell the bloody Kraut that I'm not mad at 'im any more! Are you 'appy now??! Maybe there's something else I can do, bake 'im a bleedin' cake or something? Don't know 'ow I'M the one w'at got to be the bad guy in all this . . ."

But he was talking to thin air; Andrew had disappeared, wearing a huge grin, having left his, "Gee, thanks, Peter! You're the greatest!" floating behind him as he dashed through the door to find Hans Schultz. 

Peter Newkirk was left in the empty barracks, head spinning, wondering what the hell had just happened. Somehow, where Andrew Carter was concerned, that just seemed to be the norm.


End file.
